Every year we have beenwitness to it: how theworld descends into a rich mash, in order thatit may resume.And thereforewho would cry out to the petals on the groundto stay,knowing as we must,how the vivacity of what was is married to the vitality of what will be?I don’t saytt’s easy, butwhat else will do if the love one claims to have for the worldbe true?So let us go on, cheerfully enough,this and every crisping day,though the sun be swinging east,and the ponds be cold and black,and the sweets of the year be doomed. -Mary Oliver